


Resurrection

by Ash2411



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Horror, KIND of canon, Kind of AU, M/M, Multi, Romance, Theorizing, fun times, grim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash2411/pseuds/Ash2411
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin begins senior year with the rest of the pack, struggling to find her footing in their last year together. When a figure from the pack's past reappears, they not only threaten the lives of the pack, but their sanity as well. (Takes place after 5x01 and 5x02).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Injection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia has a prophetic dream.

There is a figure by the door. His voice sounds like an engine sputtering. His hands are cold claws and his eyes are red pits. It’s cold underground. Figures swim in tanks, curled up like underdeveloped  children, clinging to a tube that gives them life. The door creaks as it shuts. There is a cold clang as the frame meets the metal door. There is a girl, naked, covered in a sheet, lying stretched out on a grimy table. Her hair pools around her like black blood, her mouth is a faded break in her porcelain face. She is dead. Lydia is sure of this. The girl is too still, too quiet, and although Lydia cannot feel her, she knows she is cold. Something is terribly off about this. The figure by the door turns as two more clunk across the room towards the table. All three of them stand around the sides of the table with Lydia at the head. She is paralyzed with fear, even though the tall metal figures cannot see her. Something is so so wrong. Lydia can feel her pulse in her fingertips and there is a sharp metallic taste on her tongue. She doesn’t want to stay in the dank basement and see what will happen. She wants to leave, but she cannot move her feet.

The tallest of the metal men fills a large syringe with a silvery blue fluid, watching the fluid fill the stem almost lovingly. One of the other figures flings back the sheet. For a moment, Lydia’s  vision is white before the sheet falls to the ground, floating through the air like the petals of a peace lily. There is a gaping hole in the young girls stomach, the edges of the wound clean and precise. Lydia’s heart pounds  like a drum. She fights the urge to throw up. She feels like she is going to drown in her own bile.

The largest doctor with the syringe taps it gently before leaning over the girls frail, dead figure. Then he plunges the syringe into her chest, with more force than necessary, squeezing until all of the silver-blue fluid has entered the girl’s body. For a moment, nothing happens, then the girl begins to convulse. Black fluids run from her mouth and nose. Her eyelids flutter wildly, her hands claw at the table for purchase and then all at once- she falls still again. Her skin begins to plump again and color rushes to her cheeks. Her dry hair becomes shiny and dark. The skin of her torso ripples as it stitches itself over the hole in her. She sits up, the fluids running down her face and neck. Slowly, she opens her eyes. Immediately Lydia recognizes that something isn’t right with her features. Her wide, clear eyes are a deep maroon, so dark and red that they are almost black.

Lydia’s eyes meet hers and finally her mouth opens in a scream that she can’t hold back. She screams and screams in horror, barely hearing the words that the doctor whispers into the girls ear.

“Scott McCall. Find him. Kill him.”

 

* * *

 

When Lydia wakes up the next day, she can’t remember all the details of the dream. She vaguely remembers the girl, and the metal figures torturing her. She feels the horror that she felt during the dream and remembers the scream she released, unable to contain her shock and fear.

The drive to school is normal, or as normal as you can get for Beacon Hills. Senior year has barely begun and already the pack has been thrust into danger again. Why is it that danger never wants to play during summer break? Scott’s life has been threatened, Liam can barely keep the shift under control near the full moon, and a young boy named Theo who Lydia vaguely remembers from my her childhood, is trying to insert himself into Scott’s life. Her mind feels like it’s been rung out like a wet rag having spent too many nights unable to sleep, worried that they are all on the path to destruction all over again. Luckily, Lydia only has one class for her senior year, giving her plenty of time to think about things. Too much time, really.

As she rounds the corner, Lydia nearly runs into Stiles and Malia, leaning against the wall, Stiles’ arm slung over her shoulder, Malia’s head thrown back in a laugh. Lydia’s heart aches in a way that she desperately wishes it wouldn’t. Malia is a beacon of strength. Despite her horrific past, she perseveres, always pushing herself to continue and learn, although exploring her humanity is not always her strong point. Lydia admires Malia and she refuses to make an enemy of her simply because she is jealous. Stiles deserves happiness and she will not be the one to take it from him. Besides, she’s had her chance. Lydia would never admit it, but she fears that she will always be connected to death and destruction, and she has no desire to bring anyone else her bad luck. Her distance from the pack is fueled by love, no matter how painful it feels.

Lydia tries to slip past Stiles and Malia without being noticed, but Stiles is practiced at spotting the small red-head in the busy crowd. “Lydia!” Stiles shouts. Malia’s laugh tapers off, but her smile is still there as she follows Stiles as he pursues Lydia.

“Can’t chat, you guys. I have to get to class! Then I’m meeting someone for lunch!” Lydia shouts over her shoulder. Malia follows her down the hallway, slipping between people, easily until her hand rests on Lydia’s arm.  When she comes to a stop, Malia rests her chin on Lydia’s shoulder, looking up at her with her chocolate colored eyes.

“What?” Lydia asks, raising her eyebrows. “What is it?”

“Stiles thinks that we should all be sticking together. Especially since he’s paranoid that things are going to go badly now that we’ve had a few months free of the supernatural.” Malia responds, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Stiles.

“Yeah, well, that’s because I have a bad feeling. How many times have my bad feelings been completely reasonable and led to actual problems unfolding. I’ll tell you! Every time. Okay? Remember Matt?” Stiles says, putting his hands out in a pleading gesture, spastic and determined. “I know you guys don’t think I have any reason to be suspicious and anxious, but come on, how many times have my hunches been correct?”

“Do I really have to answer that?” Lydia asks him. She tries to sound light and joking, but in all honesty, Lydia has felt anxious too. Lydia withholds this information, not wanting to worry anyone until she knows that something is wrong. However, she trusts Stiles’ instincts almost more than her own. He has a very perceptive eye for evil.

“Lydia. Please tell me you don’t think this is ridiculous.” He responds. Malia saves Lydia from responding by sniffing the air, a look of blank concentration on her face. She smells something from a distance.

“Theo is here. We should probably continue this elsewhere.” She says, grabbing Stiles by the elbow and steering him in the opposite direction. Lydia distinctly hears the phrase ‘I’m not afraid of him’ followed by ‘He’s a looooot bigger than you.’

Sure enough, Theo rounds the corner. Lydia avoids his eyes, but he still spots her, waving. The bell rings loudly and Lydia rushes into class, setting her books down on the table next to Scott and Kira’s, but neither of them are there yet. The room smells like chemicals and sterile fluids. Something about it triggers a memory. Lydia see a flash of metal, glowing red eyes, and tastes blood. The sensation leaves almost as soon as it came and Lydia is left feeling disoriented. Scott enters the classroom and gently places a hand on her shoulder.

“Lydia. Are you okay?” He asks quietly. Kira suggests a trip to the school nurse, but Lydia refuses. Scott's eyes search her face and his thumb rubs soothing circles across her skin.

“I’m fine. I’m fine! I’m just tired okay?” She snaps. Lydia takes a deep breath, feeling ashamed of her cold response, but she is confused and upset and she can’t even figure out why. People are beginning to stare, so she takes her seat and pushes her long hair back from her shoulders. For the rest of the class Lydia feels shaky and sick. When class ends Lydia rushes out the door to her car. She doesn’t feel anything alarming under the surface of her mind. Closing her eyes, she tries to clear her head. No screams rise, no images flash through her head. It’s not until she gets home, after lunch with Parrish that she finally senses something. When Lydia looks up from her homework, something catches her eye. It’s the silver tipped arrow mounted on her wall. Chris gave it to her after Allison's death as a sort of remembrance gift. This time, instead of a pang of sadness, Lydia feels a pang of fear as she looks at it. Just like that, it’s like a switch has been flipped. She is thrown into a vision of the dream she had the night before, except this time, as the images flash past her at breakneck speed, she is able to catch all the details. This time as the girl sits up on the table, her face dripping blood, her eyes glowing a deep maroon, Lydia recognizes her. It’s her.

**It’s Allison. She is alive.**

 


	2. Rememberance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia struggles to forget her prophetic dream while the others cope with their first encounter with the Dread Doctors.

As soon as Lydia realizes that the girl in her dream was Allison, she feels sick to her stomach. She runs to the bathroom, emptying the contents of her stomach. Sweat makes her thin shirt cling to her, stickily. Had it been a nightmare? Or was it something more?

She calls Scott first. It goes straight to voicemail. Lydia doesn’t bother leaving a message. Instead she calls Stiles. He answers on the third ring.

“What is it?” He says. No hello. He is alert, as always, like he’s been waiting for her to call.

“It’s...It’s Allison.” Lydia says, attempting to calm herself unsuccessfully. She can’t seem to catch her breath.

“Allison? Lydia, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Stiles asks. He sounds unsure and hesitant.

“I’m fine!” Lydia snaps, used to the speculation involving her “talents”. “I just...I need to talk to you and Scott. I need to talk to the pack. It’s really important. It can’t wait.”

“Did you call Scott already?”

“No answer.” Lydia’s heart is beating furiously. They need to understand. 

“Alright. I  will be there to pick you up okay? Just stay put. I’ll try calling Scott again.” Stiles seems to realize that Lydia is in no state to drive. She is too panicked to put herself behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. Before Lydia can answer, Stiles hangs up the phone.

* * *

 

Half an hour later, at Lydia’s request, just the three of them, stand in Scott’s living room:  Scott, Stiles, and Lydia. Allison’s absence seems glaringly obvious in this small group. They are stripped back to their 15 year old selves, just kids, alone and afraid. Scott steps forward and kneels in front of Lydia, snapping her back to the present. He takes her hands in his.

“Lydia, what happened?” He asks. She suddenly feels unsure of herself, aware of how insane she’s going to sound when she opens her mouth. Unconsciously, she looks up at Stiles, her eyes wide, seeking some kind of comfort. He nods and she steels herself.

“I had a nightmare. But, it didn’t feel like a nightmare. It felt real.” Lydia begins.

“Like Tracey’s night terrors?” Scott asks, his brows knitting together.

“It wasn’t a night terror though.” Not then and not now. “I saw her. There were these men. They were...there were 3 of them. And there was a girl on the table…”

Lydia describes the dream with as much detail as she can remember. Scott and Stiles listen without interrupting, a real feat for Stiles. His expression, however, darkens with each word that falls from her lips. She finally reaches the end of her story, hesitating to finish. Again she looks at Stiles, and she can tell that he already knows what she’s going to say. Scott’s eyes are concerned and warm as he looks at her. She meets his eyes, unwilling to hurt him in the way that she knows her words will.

“Who was the girl, Lydia?” Scott asks her. Lydia’s heart is in her throat.

“Allison. It was Allison.” She answers, holding his gaze, begging him to understand. But, immediately something in Scott’s gaze seems to shut a part of him away. He drops Lydia’s hands from his own, the absence of his reassuring touch leaving her cold.

“Lydia, Allison is…” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence. They all know the end of it already.

“I know, Scott.” Lydia says. “But,-”

“I know the laws of the supernatural are changing, but someone human back from the dead? Almost a year later?” Scott shakes his head and looks to Stiles who is remaining quiet for once. “Maybe you just had a dream. An actual dream. A lot of stuff has been happening again. Maybe it’s just your body trying to figure it all out.”

Stiles finally speaks. “I don’t know, Scott. If Lydia weren’t a banshee, that theory would be a little more believable. But, you can’t pretend that Lydia’s instincts on these things don’t normally turn out to be a little more than accurate.”

Lydia breathes a quiet sigh of relief at his words. Stiles will understand. Stiles will listen.

“Banshee instincts tend to deal with death though. This isn't about someone dying.” Scott replies, sitting on the end of the couch. Stiles paces in front of them.

“Yeah, but Lydia and Allison were really close. She felt Allison-” Stiles stops, changes tracks. “She knew what was going to happen to her. Maybe there’s a connection there.”

“Scott, this felt real. This felt like I was right there as it was happening.” Lydia implores.

“At the end of your dream, you said they told her to kill me. Allison would never hurt me. I know that for sure.” Scott replies. His voice quivers slightly. “And if this actually happened, then she would have attempted to kill me by now.”

“Scott, I don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. Her memory could’ve been modified by these doctor guys.. She may look like Allison, but she may not have the same memories. We have no idea how much these doctors can do.”

“I know it sounds pretty far fetched, but I mean, we live in a town full of werewolves, kanimas, were-jaguars, kitsunes, were-coyotes...I mean you could pretty much name an animal, put “were” in front and we’d eventually find it lurking in an alley. This is Beacon Hills.” Stiles says, trying to be diplomatic.

“Look, for now, we’re going to keep this between the three of us, okay?” Scott says. He looks at Lydia sadly. “We have no way of telling if this was just a dream or not. We don’t know anything about these doctors or their methods or what they’re capable of. So far, there’s been nothing to suggest that Allison may really be alive again. I think we just need to focus on helping the people that we know the doctors are attacking. Like Tracey.”

Lydia doesn’t say anything. Her heart is sinking as she realizes that Scott isn’t going to do anything about her vision. The one person she thought would always come to her aid, always come to Allison’s aid is refusing to help. With a deep breath, she stands. “I have to go home.”

* * *

 

A week passes before anything new happens. Tracey attacks and kills her own father, leaving two others maimed before moving on to someone new. When they finally track her down, Lydia is stabbed with Tracey’s kanima claws, rendering her helpless. When Malia comes back from attempting to save Lydia’s mother, she tells kira the news: Tracey is dead. The “dread doctors” declared her condition “terminal” and plunged a needle into her throat, leaving her to die. Malia was horrified, both by Lydia’s state, and her failure to save Tracey’s life, despite it being out of her control. The others don’t believe that Malia is innocent of Tracey’s death at first. But, when she describes the great metal figures that killed Tracey, they all seem to believe her just a little bit more.

Lydia lays in a hospital bed, her side aching and itching, watching Malia fiddle with the strings of her hoodie. She can tell that Malia still feels guilty even though she shouldn’t. She can tell that the doctors scared Malia as much as they scare her.

“It’s not your fault. You did everything you could to save her, Malia. You did everything right.” Lydia says, reaching out to pat Malia’s arm.

“She was so afraid. I could feel her fear and confusion. It was overwhelming. My first instinct was to kill her, but then I saw her...and all I wanted to do was take it all away. Take her pain and loneliness away.” Malia says, her voice quivering, her eyes downcast. “She was just scared and alone.”

Lydia’s heart breaks for the dead teenager, far too young for such heavy things. Her mind drifts to Allison, only 17 and gone. Then her mind turns to her dream and she thinks or maybe not, hating herself for allowing a small shoot of hope to blossom inside her. A gentle knock sounds on the door and Stiles peeks his head in, dark circles beneath his eyes. Unable to visit her in the ICU, Stiles had taken to sitting in the waiting room during his free periods. Now that he can visit Lydia, now stable, he seems to do rarely else.

“Hey, you doing okay?” He asks, looking at Lydia.

“I’m fine.” She answers, rolling her eyes in an attempt to divert his attention. Looking at his concerned expression makes her heart ache. It’s almost worse than the stabbing pain in her side.

“How about you, huh?” He asks, turning his attention to Malia. She nods her head absentmindedly, standing. Stiles moves towards her, planting a kiss on her forehead. “You should go on home and get some sleep. You need it, okay? Sleep helps you heal. Even if it isn’t physical.”

Malia nods again, her eyes tired, her face drawn. “Yeah. I’ll shower and sleep for a while. My dad is going to start worrying.” She kisses Stiles, moving towards the door. Before she leaves, she turns around and looks at Lydia. Then, she does something she’s never done before; she moves to hug Lydia, wrapping her strong tanned arms around her gently, careful not to touch her injured torso. She smiles a little, then leaves Stiles and Lydia alone.

“Holy shit.” Stiles jokes. “That’s progress.” He sits in Malia’s vacated chair and begins chewing on his thumb.

“Would you please stop looking at me like I’m dying? I’m going to be fine. It looks a lot worse than it actually is. As soon as they can ensure that there’s no real risk of infection, I’ll be out of here. There are bigger things to worry about.” Lydia says. Stiles gives her half a smile and leans forward, resting his arms on the bed and his head on his arms.

“You can’t blame us for worrying okay. You don’t heal, Lydia. Banshee or not, you don’t heal. We’re allowed to worry.” Stiles says, his warm, honey colored eyes staring up at her. Lydia feels a pang in her lower belly, entirely unrelated to the gash on her side. Her cheeks flush slightly, and she looks away from him. “While it’s just us, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

Something in his tone sets Lydia on edge. She meets his eyes again, but doesn’t respond.

“Have you had anymore dreams about Allison and the doctors?” Stiles asks gently.

“No. Not since the first one. Not really. I’ve had moments of remembering bits and pieces of the first one, but nothing new.” Lydia says quietly, feeling self conscious. In reality, Lydia had not thought of much else since having the dream. It is constantly weighing on her mind, a stone on her heart, stopping her breath.

Stiles nods his head, rubbing at his jaw absentmindedly. “I went to Allison’s grave.” Lydia sits up, her eyes widening in anticipation. “I checked everything. The soil, the grass, the flowers you planted there...There’s nothing. No change whatsoever that I could see.”

Lydia sighs, in disappointment or relief, even she’s not sure. She feels incredibly touched that Stiles would take the time to check for her. The fact that someone has taken this hunch seriously is enough, but that he took an extra step for her leaves her feeling warm.

* * *

 

Lydia is able to drive herself home four days later, after her surgery. Her mother offers to drive her, but she refuses, determined to show both herself and her mother that she is okay. The closer she gets to home, the odder she begins to feel. There is a strange tightness in her chest and she feels lightheaded. There is no scream in her lungs though. She feels as though she is out of her body. Lydia’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel, proving that she is here.

When she finally reaches her doorstep, she fumbles in her purse, searching for her keys in the dark. As she unlocks the door and steps over the threshold, she feels a crunch beneath her feet. There are dried flowers on the doorstep. They crumble to dust as she tries to pick them up; roses, violets and lilies slip from her fingertips, falling to the ground like snow. They are the same kinds of flowers she placed on top of Allison’s casket at her funeral…

Lydia drops her purse at the door and slips off her shoes. She turns all the lights on and walks around the house, looking for anything out of place. There is nothing; the books on the coffee table are exactly where she left them, the kitchen is still spotless. She strains her ears, trying to listen for any odd sounds, but hears nothing. Once she is sure the main floor is clear, she sweeps up the dead flowers and makes her way to her room, turning off lights as she goes. Just as the last light goes off, she notices a glimmer at her bedroom door. There is something stuck to it. When Lydia reaches it, she notices that the door is ajar and sprouting from the pristine white wood is something familiar.

A black arrow, tipped in silver.

Lydia braces her hand against the door and yanks the arrow from the punctured wood. Lydia doesn’t have to look to know that there is a fleur de lis on the tip. She’s been staring at this same arrow for almost a year now, mounted on her wall in remembrance.


	3. Gnaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia glimpses a familiar figure in the rain and Stiles fights the guilt behind Donovan's demise.

For a fleeting moment, Lydia considers calling Scott. But this thought dissipates as quickly as it came. Instead, she turns on her heel and heads for the front door again and stuffs the arrow in her bag, tears filling her eyes. This isn’t fair. Lydia doesn’t know what to believe. Is this someone trying to mess with her head? Did Allison do this? Did the doctors do this? Why, why why? The last question is the one that permeates in her mind, drowning all the others.

Lydia climbs into her car and heads towards the cemetery, unsure of what she’s looking for or what she’ll find. She just drives until she sees the ominous gates and makes her way towards the patch of ground her best friend lies beneath. It begins to rain again and the electricity in the air makes her arm hairs stand on end. Lydia crouches next to the great stone with Allison’s name on it, rubbing her hands over it, feeling for cracks. Everything is smooth. The stone, the grass, the planted flowers around the grave unruffled. That’s when Lydia realizes it. How could Stiles have missed this? Flowers don’t remain unruffled. They wilt, they crinkle, they die. The flowers next to Allison’s grave are fresh. Lydia looks over her shoulder into the night before running all the way back to her car. Music dances from the speakers, keeping her company in the darkness.

Just as she looks up from the dash, she sees a tall, slender figure standing in the rain. It is a woman, her dark hair plastered across her face, her skin porcelain, and her dark clothes wrapped stickily around her body. Lydia’s heart races in fear and anticipation. Before she can think, she speeds away, slamming her foot onto the gas, desperate to escape, but from what she’s not sure.

* * *

Stiles paces his room, his breaths coming in great gasps, his heart beating erratically. It feels like his mind is spinning into overdrive. Every feeling he’s suppressed in the last 3 years comes bubbling up to the surface. He is losing his mind.

No matter how many times he scrubs at his hands he can’t seem to scrub away the blood. Stiles has never killed anyone before. He is not a killer. He tries to remind himself of this as he paces the floor in front of his clear board. His hands are throbbing from pounding on the glass, hating everything scattered across its clarity. Stiles tries to breathe and finds that he can’t. It feels like a rope has been wrapped around his chest; he feels wrung out. No one can know that he killed Donovan. No one can know. No one can know what he’s done, who he is now. The phone rings and it’s Scott, telling Stiles things he already knows; someone is stealing the bodies of the dead, something horrible is happening. He holds himself together until he hangs up the phone.

Stiles slides to the floor, tears running down his cheeks. He has to get rid of these clothes, he has to get rid of anything that reminds him what he’s done. He rips his shirt off over his head, wincing as his muscles stretch and pull, sore with surviving. Air whooshes in and out of his lungs, wheezing through his airways. He cleans his shoulder as best he can and covers it with a large bandage. Then he throws the clothes in the wash and climbs into the shower, letting the scalding water burn away the past. Barely able to hold himself up, he leans his head against the wall of the shower, hands splayed across it, scrabbling at something solid and real.

The bathroom door opens and he knows how this must look, but he still can’t lift himself away from the wall. “Stiles?” Malia says, rushing forward. The shower doors open and water sprays onto the floor and seeps into Malia’s clothing and hair. “Stiles…” She whispers into his back as she wraps her arms around his middle and leans her cheek onto his back. Stiles knows she can smell the sorrow and horror and hurt in his bones. He just hopes she doesn’t know why.

* * *

 

In a few hours time, Malia goes to school while the others attempt to wrestle information from Dr. Valyk, desperate to understand what the dread doctors are and what they want. Chaos ensues. The defenses are broken. Kira and Scott barely make it out alive, and Stiles and Lydia only narrowly escape the tall metal creatures that flicker like the memory of a nightmare.

Afterwards, Stiles takes Lydia home. His shoulder is aching and smarting from the teeth marks in his skin. Lydia shivers, staring straight ahead. Without thinking, Stiles reaches towards her and takes her small, chilled hand in his. Lydia finally looks at him, her eyes unsure, worried. He’s sure they reflect his own. They break apart too quickly as Stiles places his hands back on the wheel. His jeep still has the faint smell of cleaning supplies from scourging it of any evidence of his run-in with Donovan. Stiles wants desperately to tell Lydia what happened, but he can’t. He can’t tell anyone, ever. They can never know what he’s done. They arrive at Lydia’s house and the driveway is empty. Lydia climbs out of the Jeep, taking a deep breath.

“Lydia? Do you want me to come inside with you?” Stiles asks, seeing the tension in Lydia’s stance.

She merely glances at him and nods. He reaches into his pocket and dials Malia’s number to let her know where he is, but she doesn’t answer. She texts him a few minutes later with “practicing driving with someone.” Stiles wonders who the someone is, but instead of asking responds with an “okay. see you soon.” He follows Lydia’s petite figure to her doorstep where she fumbles with her keys, her hands shaking. Stiles’ brows furrow in concern, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to stay or anything- I’m just feeling a little wary of everything right now. My mom isn’t home. She’s been staying late at the school to get some work done. Since she took off to stay with me at the hospital a few times.”

“I don’t mind hanging out for a few minutes if it makes you feel safer.” Stiles responds with a shrug and a wince. Pain radiates throughout his arm, making his eyes water. He feels feverish.

“Stiles, what’s going on with your shoulder? And don’t lie to me this time.” Lydia asked, crossing her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowed and her voice sharp.

 ****  


“Nothing!” Stiles responded quickly. He looked at the ground, his chest tightening in panic.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I asked you not to lie. Let me see it.”

“No, Lydia. No. It’s nothing. There’s nothing to see. I told you. It’s just my elbow.” Stiles stammers out, turning away from her. Lydia’s hand touches his back gently and he jumps.

“Malia said you weren’t feeling well last night and didn’t sleep much. She told me you were having nightmares.” Lydia’s voice says gently.

Stiles closes his eyes, silently cursing the budding friendship between these two girls. Malia could sense far too much and Lydia was far too perceptive. The two of them working together was a recipe for disaster when it came to keeping secrets. Lydia turns Stiles around to look at her and the anguish on his face chips away at her heart. “Please tell me what’s going on. I hate seeing you like this. I don’t know what happened, but you haven’t been yourself all day and your shoulder is injured and I don’t know how or why. The dread doctors are here in Beacon Hills. Innocent people are dying. I can’t defend myself or you or anyone else. No one is listening to me about Allison-”

“Lydia. LYDIA.” Stiles says, placing his large hands over hers. “Breathe.” Lydia’s panic seems to have smudged away some of Stiles’ own panic. They stand there looking each other in the eyes until finally, Stiles speaks. “I’ll tell you what happened. You can’t tell Scott though. Or Malia. Or anyone. Okay?”

“Okay.” Lydia responds roughly. “I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I…” Stiles starts. He begins to pace, Lydia’s eyes following him. “I got into a fight.” Stiles pauses there. His words are choking him. If he doesn’t get them out of his throat he’ll asphyxiate. “With Donovan.”

“The kid who threatened your dad? How…?” Confusion rushes through Lydia, then sudden understanding. “They didn’t...he wasn’t…” She couldn’t seem to finish her thoughts, her mouth forming an O of horror.

Stiles’ hands are shaking and he begins to run his fingers through his hair and then down over his face. “I was leaving the library. I’d been reading about Wendigos. Trying to figure out what we could be dealing with, with all these weird hybrids, and the jeep wouldn’t start. I went to open the hood and something grabbed my shoulder…” Stiles continues the story, telling Lydia everything until he gets to the very end.

“Stiles...what happened? Where is he?” Lydia asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“He fell.” Stiles says quietly, tears running down his face. He looks away from her, wiping his nose. “It was an accident. He attacked me and I acted on instinct. When I pulled the pin in the scaffolding it fell apart and he fell onto one of the poles. There was blood…” Stiles’ breathing gets faster and he scrunches his eyes shut. “I called the police and I pulled into a spot out of the way to wait. But they didn’t find anything. I went back in and his body was gone.”

“Scott was right. Someone’s taking them…” Lydia whispers. Her eyes drift to the floor. Then they snap back up to Stiles who is watching her expectantly. His lips are quivering and he looks completely shattered as he gnaws at his thumb. Lydia moves to sit next to him on the couch where he’s finally sat down. She wraps her arms around him gently and rests her head on his uninjured shoulder. She can hear the whoosh of air rushing through his lungs and the erratic beat of his heart.

“I killed him, Lydia. I murdered him.” Stiles chokes out.

“Stiles...No.  Don’t say that. You didn’t murder anyone. Donovan was attacking you. He was fully intending to kill you, Stiles. You were defending yourself. You would never hurt anyone on purpose. I know you. That’s not who you are.” Lydia says quietly.

“Donovan’s dead because of me. I hated him and now he’s dead.” Stiles’ voice sounds hollow and broken.

“He tried to kill you and you didn’t let him. Would you rather he were alive and you were dead? Do you think that would make this world a better place? What were you supposed to do? Let him kill you?” Lydia shakes her head.

“Scott said we’re supposed to be saving these people. He said they’re the victims. I didn’t save him. I didn’t even try to.” Stiles is unraveling and it’s killing Lydia.

“This was different. Scott will understand. Donovan was deemed psychotic long before anyone attached any wendigo DNA to his body…” Lydia says, raising her head to look at Stiles. His profile is thrown into shadow, the light behind his head.

“No. You can’t tell Scott. Not yet okay? Please, not yet.” Stiles begs. He has never kept anything from Scott. They are a team. They’re a pack. They’re falling apart at the seams.

Lydia nods reluctantly. “Let me see your shoulder at least.” Stiles nods in response. He tries to pull the neck of his t-shirt away from the skin for her to see, but it’s not enough. “Take it off.”

Stiles stands and slips his sweatshirt off slowly, trying not to jar his shoulder. He looks at her, his cheeks pink. Lydia gives him a scathing look, her own cheeks reddening slightly. Stiles pulls his t-shirt over his head, grunting in pain. Lydia tries not to stare, her breath caught in her chest. She leads him to the kitchen and he sits in one of the chairs at the breakfast table. Once the antiseptic and bandages are gathered on the table, Lydia looks at his wound. Her hands are cold against his skin, and he jumps at her touch.

“Sorry…” She murmurs, grimacing at Stiles’ mangled skin. He winces again at the antiseptic, as Lydia cleans the bite thoroughly before spreading an ointment across the damaged skin and covering it in gauze. “We’ll need to watch for infection. You should really go to a hospital.”

“We both know they won’t know what to do with it. Besides, then I’d have to explain it to Melissa.” Stiles gently placed his hand over Lydia’s, still resting on his shoulder. Her stomach flipped. He turned in his seat to look up at her, her height leaving them mere inches apart. Stiles swallowed hard, looking up at her, his eyes falling to her lips for a moment before meeting her eyes. “Thank you, Lydia.”

Lydia smiles slightly even though her eyes are sad, worry gnawing at her stomach. Stiles squeezes her hand, desperate not to drift into the darkness again.

 ****  
  



	4. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack is falling apart, each individual fighting their own battles- until an old face returns and Malia makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so SO sorry that it has taken me an outrageously long time to update this fic! It's been very hectic for the past few months. I recently graduated from university and I'm still adjusting. But, don't worry! I love writing this fic and I will be continuing it! It's proving challenging, but I am so up for it! I hope you guys are too! :) Without further ado: Chapter 4!

Scott can’t stand the tension in his muscles. It feels like he’s folding in on himself. In a way, he thinks he is. His pack is falling apart. His desperation has turned him reckless. Accessing Corey’s memories could have killed him and he did it without a second thought. Who was he turning into? What was he willing to do to stop the Dread Doctors? His own mother came home to a dead body. Sheriff Stilinski involved the law. Kira had abandoned hope, leaving Beacon Hills for the time being. Stiles was hiding something. Liam and Hayden could have been killed. Lydia didn’t confide in him anymore, after he ignored her dream about Allison….

 

Allison. 

 

Everything went wrong after her death. The world turned upside down and everything changed. Scott was losing control. Lines are blurring and they can’t trust anyone anymore. Apparently they can’t even trust each other. Scott lies down on his bed, the moonlight reaching through the window to turn his tanned skin into a frosty shade of silver. His mind drifts to Allison again. Part of him feels guilty; he should be thinking of Kira. But the other part of him feels a deep sadness knowing half of him will always rest beneath the ground. It feels unfair that he can’t ever give himself entirely to someone else, that a piece of his heart will always hold onto what he and Allison would never ever have again. 

 

Scott’s chest begins to heave. He rolls over and squeezes the pillow beneath his cheek, a familiar feeling stifling his breath. Only when he starts to feel dizzy and faint does he finally reach for his inhaler, sucking in the medicine. Scott throws the container to the floor angrily, hating that he feels so weak. The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. His claws begin to unsheath themselves. His teeth grow into fangs and his eyes glow crimson. Blood trickles from his palms where his own claws have stuck him and a roar unleashes itself from his throat before choking off into a sob.

* * *

 

 

Lydia tosses and turns, trying to force herself to sleep. Her mother gets home and goes immediately to her room, shutting herself away from Lydia’s world. Loneliness seeps into her bones as she drifts to sleep, her eyes damp with tears. 

 

She hears a clicking noise, loud enough to wake her. Lydia stirs slightly and tries to roll over, but her arms catch against something cold and rough. Her eyes fly open and she yanks her arms forward and tries to kick her legs, but she can’t move more than a few centimeters.  _ This is a nightmare. It’s nothing but a nightmare _ . She tries to relax, squeezing her eyes shut, but nothing happens. Her heartbeat quickens and she feels panic at the edges of her mind. 

 

“You can stop struggling, Lydia. I’m not going to hurt you.” A familiar voice sounds out behind her. Lydia lies very still, her eyes tightly shut.  _ Please God no. Please don’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to her _ Lydia silently begs whoever is listening. 

 

They must not hear her prayer, because suddenly there she is. Tears hit Lydia’s eyes like a hurricane. They pour from her eyes although she doesn’t make a sound. It’s too much. She begins to shake, her heart goes into overdrive. 

 

“You’re dead. You can’t be here. You’re deadyou’redeadyou’redead. It's just another dream.”

 

“Lydia, I’m right here.” Allison purs. She sits on the edge of the table where Lydia lies, her face turned away, face damp with tears and sweat. When Allison reaches out to touch her, Lydia flinches, but Allison doesn’t seem to notice. She strokes Lydia’s cheek with the back of her hand, her skin like ice. 

 

“So, Lydia, tell me, how is it that I wake up and yours is the first face I remember?” 

* * *

Stiles paces in his room,  _ again _ . He begins to worry that he’ll wear a hole in the carpet. His mind feels stretched and sore from wracking his brain, trying to understand everything that has happened in the past week. His shoulder smarts and he rolls it, trying not to wince.

 

“You okay?” Malia asks, looking up from her homework. She’s trying so hard to keep living as though everything is okay, but they all know it’s not. He can tell by the hard line of her mouth that she’s as tense as he is. 

 

“Yeah. Fine.” He answers, stopping to rub the back of his neck. “I just hate waiting around for the next thing to happen. I hate not doing anything while people are dying. We’re so out of our league here. We don’t even stand a chance against these guys, Malia.”

 

Malia chews on her bottom lip, but she doesn't offer any solace. “You should probably do some homework, Stiles.” 

 

“Homework? Are you kidding me?” Stiles says incredulously. 

 

“Look, there's nothing we can do right now. Okay? Nothing. You don't think I've tried thinking of something?” Malia says, brows furrowed. “I've laid awake listening to your heartbeat and smelling your anxiety for weeks now. I'm just as worried as you are.” 

 

Stiles sighs and walks over to Malia, gently rubbing her shoulder. “I know...I know you are. I'm sorry.” He leans down and presses a kiss to Malia’s cheek, but something feels different between them. 

 

“Stiles, have you heard from Lydia at all today?” Malia asks. If it were Scott she were talking to, he would hear the erratic beating of her heart, but this is Stiles and for now, he suspects nothing. 

 

“No. Nothing all day. I called her like 3 times though.” He flops backwards onto the bed. 

 

“She's probably just busy.” 

 

“Scott said she seemed really off when he talked to her last. He said she wasn't making sense. Something about Allison.” Stiles says, looking at the ceiling. He sits up quickly. “I need to go and check on her.” 

 

“Hey!” Malia says. Stiles is already slipping his jacket on and rummaging for his keys. “Stiles!” 

 

He looks up at her, his eyes full of worry, dark circles a bruise against his pale skin. Malia stands  up and puts her hand on his arms. Her eyes are dark and determined. “I’ll go. Okay? You need sleep and I can get there faster than you can.”

 

“Malia, I’ll be fine.” Stiles says, trying to step past her, but she blocks his way and crosses her arms. 

 

“Please, stay here. I’m sure she’s completely fine.” Malia says, even though she can feel the lie beneath her own words. “It’s getting late. Just let me go and see her and you stay here and get some sleep. You need it.You look like shit. And you reek. You need to relax.”

 

“You’re so sweet. Just, I don’t even know how you do it….” Stiles says, rolling his eyes, then pulls her to him. Their lips press  together in a kiss, but Malia’s stomach doesn’t do the same backflips that assaulted her belly when they first started dating.

 

“Shut up.” She says with a small smile. “Back in a flash.” 

 

Before Stiles can respond, she’s gone.

* * *

 

 

It only takes Malia 15 minutes on foot to reach Lydia’s house. The lights inside are off, but Malia creeps carefully to the window Lydia keeps cracked for her, just in case. Her eyes adjust  to the pitch black and she allows her other senses to take over. There is nothing to hear save the soft snores of Mrs. Martin, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, and the hum of a ceiling fan. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Perfume, soap, cherry wood, laundry...it all hits her nose forcefully. Something smells  wrong amidst the familiar scents, but Malia can’t quite detect it. She leaps up the stairs, taking 2 at a time as quietly as possible. 

 

The door to Lydia’s room is cracked open. Malia stops in her tracks at the sight of the door; a hole has been punched through the wood, small but dark and ragged around the edges. Something is wrong. The scent of fear and sweat hit her, followed quickly by the acrid smell of chemicals. When she opens the door, the room is devoid of any life. Everything is in it’s place, the sheets of her bed are rumpled as though she merely left them only moments ago. The whole room is organized and clean, just as Lydia likes to keep it. If Malia didn’t know Lydia, she wouldn’t have noticed the absence of a small detail. She looks at the empty wall mount where one of Allison’s silver tipped arrows normally sits and her heart flutters like a bird trapped in a cage. The arrow is glaringly absent and suddenly something seems very wrong. Malia leaves quickly and quietly, shutting the window behind her. When she’s some distance from Lydia’s house she pulls out her phone and calls Scott. He sounds different, his voice rough and sad. 

 

“Scott, something’s wrong. Something’s really really wrong.” Malia says into the phone. 

 

“What happened?” Scott asks, his voice suddenly  alert. 

 

“It’s Lydia. Lydia’s missing. Scott, someone’s taken Lydia.” 

 

Scott’s silence feels more like a roar.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I came up with the premise for this fic while I was reminiscing about earlier seasons of Teen Wolf and Allison Argent. The idea that some form of her could return to the pack brought me all kinds of excitement and joy. I love Allison and really miss having her on the show. She's an incredible female presence and I, of course, loved Scott and Allison's relationship, as well as her friendship with Lydia. This fic is my theory/hope for some of season 5. I highly doubt anything like this would actually happen. But, I'm excited to play around with the idea and write about Allison again! :')
> 
> Thank you SO much for reading! Please leave comments letting me know what you think! :)


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